“I asked Cole to help me look at wedding locations. When you propose, I was thinking we should—” She stops babbling with a look at my expression.

“It’s over, Miranda,” I say.

“What?”

“It’s over.”

Her lips purse, and she raises her chin haughtily. “That whole block of land you want in Prospect Heights, my dad will never sell it to you if you do this.”

“I know.”

“You’ll always be a grease monkey, Christos. My father can get you respect—”

“I’m respected well enough.”

Anger flares in her eyes. “It’s that tramp.”

“Don’t call her a tramp,” I say, with low menace.

“You’re not the kind of guy to walk away from business for some fancy.”

I get to my feet and approach her on the couch. “Actually,” I say, “I’m exactly the kind of guy that’s worked his whole life to recognize when it’s not a fancy. I’m not going to pass something like her up.”

She frowns. I lean over her on the couch.

“Tell whatever story you want to tell. Say you dumped me. That I’m no good.”

“This is a terrible mistake. We made sense. We made sense, Christos.”

“I’m sorry.” I kiss her cheek. “Pick up your stuff any time. Leave your key with Clare.”

“Christos, you’ll hurt her,” she says.

I step out of the room.

“She’ll hurt you!”

Maybe.

And I don’t care.

I must pursue this with Bryn.

I cannot let my one real chance with her pass.

Bryn

I’ve been getting everything ready for the launch of House of Sass; most of the details I need to handle in person, at the warehouse. I’m sore all over, but I’m putting my everything into the project. It’s not only that I want to succeed, that I want the Kelly name to be attached to good things—not bad—but that I also want to prove to Christos that he was right in believing in me. Despite my busy week, thoughts of him keep coming. Not even music—my foolproof feel-good thing—can cheer me up; I seem to have developed the ability to find something mournful in every song I hear. Muscles sore and exhausted in every sense, I ask Becka for a little something to read before bed that night.

“No.”

“Why?”

“’Cause I’m in the middle of my book and they’re apart now.”

“Ugh. Give them an HEA.”

“I don’t know; I mean, realistically speaking, maybe they don’t get together…”

“Realistically speaking, my ass. People get together all the time.”

“But not always for the right reasons,” she counters. “Sometimes people stay apart for the right reasons, and that’s love. Doing it for each other, not wanting the other to compromise their integrity just to be together.”

“You’re going to fail miserably writing love stories if you don’t get these two back together, Becka. Do you hear me?!” I demand.

I head to my first date and it goes rather well. When my date walks me home, it’s past midnight and my phone rings. I don’t answer, even though my stomach dips in response to the sound. I spot the tall, familiar image of Christos leaning against my building entrance when I arrive.

He sees me and pushes off the wall, then plunges his hands into his pockets, and waits.

I swallow, then realize I have nothing to hide. He is not dating me anymore. I don’t need to feel unfaithful because we’re not together. I relax and head to the building.

“I had a great time tonight, Bryn, I hope we can do it again sometime.”

“Me too.”

“I really, truly enjoyed it.”

I say goodbye quickly, feeling awkward knowing the man I love and need to forget is watching me.

My date leaves, and I approach the door to my building.

Christos watches me through lowered eyebrows.

God, he looks delicious.

“It was one a.m. You didn’t answer.”

“So?”

“So I needed to see you were all right.”

“I’m all right.”

He stares at my clothes.

“We really need to consider that dress for the line.”

“Are you criticizing my design?”

“No, I fucking like it, it’s just…”

“What?”

He clenches his jaw, then leans forward. “Don’t wear it out again.”

“You have no right to ask that of me.”

“I can’t stand the thought of you going out.”

“I can’t stand the thought of you sleeping with Miranda.”

“I’m not,” he bites back.

I inhale sharply, then motion to the door. “Are you going to let me pass? I’m tired and I need to go to sleep.”

“Get some sleep. You’ll need it. I need you at 7 a.m. at the office tomorrow with a detailed list of every expense made so far.”

Christos

4 weeks ago…

“I cried when you left,” she admits as we walk along Chelsea the morning after our Peasant dinner.

I brought her coffee to help with her possible hangover, and now I’m trying not to laugh at her embarrassment as we remember our goodbye from years ago. “You got my only good shirt wet,” I say.

“Ohmigod. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. I didn’t want it to dry.” My chest feels heavier as I brush her cheek, remembering.

She reacts with a blush, accusing me, “You’re a player.”